Passageway, Peshawar-The city of Peshawar was full of tiny streets, alleyways, shops and mosques that held a new mini-adventure or object of fascination. It never seemed to end. In mosques old men would recount tales of the British defeat in 1842, building up in excitement as they retold the story as if had happened recently. In the shops, merchants would sell one line of goods in the store front and show a patient visitor hoards of treasures in the back rooms or attics. Caches of Russian equipment were common enough, but one could also still find hoards of antiques and uniforms from the BEF and the days of the Raj. In spite of sweltering heat and tenacious giardia, I would take my camera and explore every bit of Peshawar that I could. As I immersed myself in this other world, I felt myself stepping through a sort of cultural prism. It was to change me forever.

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